


of esoteric tastes and mild incompetency

by WingsOfTime (orphan_account)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Intersex Character, Oral Sex, Other, Praise Kink, Pretty much just porn, Shadowbringers Spoilers, a tasteful vibrator, feat. good literature according to ikael, ikael's dumbassery rubbing off on thancred, nonbinary but male-leaning warrior of light, orgasm-chaining, slight domination kink but nothing serious Yet, switch!thancred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:57:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: The Warrior of Light reads about something in amagnificentbook and wants to try it out. Thancred is, of course, game.





	of esoteric tastes and mild incompetency

**Author's Note:**

> once again, this isn't at all canon for my main "ikael" verse! in here they're more like friends-with-benefits. but still gay :p hope yall like this!  
to skip to the porn, go past the first break: ~*~

Ikael does not really know how to go about asking for what he wants to ask for.

This is not an unusual problem. Ikael is not good with words at the best of times, and he is very grateful that Thancred is as observant and willing to put up with bad miming games as he is. Unfortunately, Ikael has no idea how to mime or even hint at “I want you to do this sex thing to me I read in one of Moren’s funny little books.” So he is making food to give himself a distraction. Also because he is hungry. Also because he thinks Thancred is probably hungry too.

He plates his mini-quiches carefully, blowing over them to cool them down as he puts his oven mitts away. A minute later sees him scuttling out the large metal doors of the Crystarium’s public kitchens, off to look for Thancred.

He finds him in one of the enclosed study rooms—by himself, thank the Twelve—seated at a desk and scribbling on a small stack of papers. He glances up as Ikael enters, sees the quiches, and smiles.

“Just as my stomach was about to grumble,” he says, beckoning with his free hand. He plucks one off the top of the tray. “Oh, I didn’t know these came so small! How quaint…. _Mmm_, Ikael, by the _gods _do you have a gift.”

“Lots of practice and hard work,” Ikael returns as Thancred happily stuffs his face. Oh, he looks so darling.

Ikael stares at him for a few more seconds before mentally squaring himself up. Well, he is here. No use in wasting time. He takes a quiche.

“I, uh, wanted to ask you a question. I-if that’s alright.” Ikael nibbles at the crust. Soft, flaky, almost perfect. Hm. Needs a little more butter.

Thancred glances at him with a half smile, and then goes back to his paper. He is holding a quiche in one hand, and his pen in the other. “Of course,” he says, noting something down. “What do you need?”

Well. “I-it… isn’t so much _need_ as want.” Ikael’s cheeks heat. And doesn’t that make him sound greedy? “I-I-I mean, it’s something, um. I wanted to ask you about, um. Trying together?”

Thancred looks up again, and his pen pauses. “Alright,” he says, tone curious. He finishes his quiche. Takes another.

Ikael bites his lip. “I-it’s a—a sex thing,” he manages to stammer out. He feels heat flare in his face, and it is all he can do to not look away from Thancred in embarrassment.

Thancred's eyebrows raise ever-so-slightly as interest sparks in his eyes. He slowly puts his pen down.

“Well. You certainly have my attention now.” The corner of his mouth curls in a faint smirk.

Ikael licks his lips, opening his mouth and then closing it. Well. How does he…

_(The large galdjent winks lecherously. “I’m gonna make you squirt over and over again like a fountain, and then I’m gonna fuck you when you don’t have any cum left in your tight little ass,” he moans in a sultry tone. The smaller man moans, shoving his pert rear up in the air. “Please, oh yeah, I need your huge prick stretching my tight pink virgin hole!” he wails. “I want you to paint my walls like a Eulmoran artist!”_

Ikael Jelaar, avid reader, stares at the book with wide eyes. This… is so…

_Arousing!_ Oh, Ikael is getting all hot and bothered! He… he half wonders whether Thancred would ever…

Ohoho. Swallowing, he dog-ears the book before tucking in his bag, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one notices. Oh… how does he even bring this up?

Of course! With food.)

Ikael will admit that he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

Thancred sits there patiently for a few minutes, eating quiches and watching Ikael open and close his mouth like a particularly dull goldfish. Eventually, he seems to understand that no prompt explanation will be forthcoming. He sucks his tongue over his teeth as he considers how to proceed.

“Do you think writing it down will help, if you are shy?” he cajoles. He pushes the paper he is writing on towards Ikael with two fingers, as if to offer it to him.

“Do you really want me to write dir—naughty words on…” Ikael cranes his neck, trying to read upside-down. “A Sin Eater sightings location list? Thancred?!”

Ikael may play at being cheeky and forward at times, but he isn’t willing to go _that_ public with his sex life! He looks at Thancred anxiously. Does he want Ikael to write in code, perhaps? Oh… Ikael does not know any code. He barely knows Eorzean, to be honest.

“Hm.” Thancred makes a considering face. “Good point.”

He slides the paper back towards himself, much to Ikael’s relief. Then he steeples his fingers, regarding him through lowered lashes.

“I can only know if you tell me, my dear,” he says. He gives him a small smile, full of promise. _Oh_. “I can only _act_ on your desires if you tell me,” he adds in a lower tone.

Ikael blushes. “I-I-I don’t… i-it’s…”

Even as he thinks of a way to word it, the words get stuck on the back of his tongue, refusing to come out of his mouth. He can only stare at Thancred in silence, face aflame once more. Oh… silly little Ikael with his silly little ideas.

Thancred tilts his head. “How about this: If you cannot bring yourself to say it, shall we play a guessing game? Do you think you can tell me how close my guesses are?”

Ikael’s ears perk up, and he nods vigorously. Yes, he can do that! And he would be lying if he said that hearing Thancred… _suggest things_ wouldn’t do fun little things to his insides.

Or his outsides. Oh.

Thancred's smile curls up his cheek. “Perfect,” he declares. “Now, pull up a chair, grab a quiche, and sit down. Very good. Let me think…”

He hums, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Something involving rope?” is his first question. Ikael shakes his head.

“Well, yes, I’d like that,” he admits, “But no. Not what I had in mind at all, really.”

Thancred's eyelids lower. “You or me? For the rope,” he murmurs in an undertone.

Ikael casts his gaze over Thancred's body, contemplating. “Both,” he replies in a similar fashion. Thancred's smile spreads a fraction of an ilm.

“Domination,” he suggests next. Ikael makes a considering noise, thinking.

“Sort of, I suppose,” he says. “But not really. Just in that it may be a bit… one-sided.”

“One-sided…” Thancred's tapping speeds up, then stops. “Prostate milking?”

Ikael blinks at him a few times. “What’s that?”

“Do you remember what your prostate is?” Thancred cocks his head.

“No.”

“Inside,” he clarifies. “That small spot that feels good. About yay big.” He indicates with his thumb and forefinger.

Ikael doesn’t know how he managed to measure that. “Oh, okay,” he says anyways. “And that makes… milk?”

“No, that’s… just what it’s called, although I do not know why. It is when your prostate is stimulated, nonstop, until you orgasm. It is… _very_ pleasurable, if done correctly. Usually just with,” He wiggles his fingers with a slanted grin.

“Oh.” Ikael blushes. “A-ah, not quite. But, ah, close, I think.”

Or _does_ that count for “until there’s no cum left in your tight little ass”? Ikael speaks up as Thancred opens his mouth to guess again, cutting him off. “Wait.”

Thancred closes his mouth, obediently patient.

“H-how,” Ikael tries, “Would you make it so that there’s no… no cum left in my arse? Would—would it be done like that?”

Thancred goes still for a very, very brief second, and his eyelashes seem to… vibrate as he fights some instinctive reaction. “In your… arse?” he says.

Ikael pumps his head in a nod. Yes, the book had been very clear that his arse was to be empty of cum. “Do you think I can squirt,” he adds helpfully, because if he manage words now he may as well try to get as many out as he can, “Like a fountain?”

There is a beat. Thancred says, “Alright. I think a brief anatomy lesson may be in order. Wait, actually…” A pained look flashes across his face. “You have no… womb, right? I don’t even know where _you_ would produce…”

He pauses, looking perplexed. Ikael coos at him helpfully, and then fishes in his bag for his book.

“_Ah_,” Thancred says as he opens it to the page he has dog-eared. His tone is sage. “Moren.”

“O-okay. So I would like you to… u-uh, we can skip the fountain bit, I think. Make me, a-ah, come until there’s nothing left in my arse, and then f—” He swallows around a suddenly dry throat. Keeping his eyes studiously fixed on the page, he continues, voice a little hoarse, “fuck me. When I-I’m all…”

And there his voice goes again. It does not seem to matter, at least, because he has arguably gotten all of it out, and he can _feel_ Thancred's gaze on him sharpen, heavy and electrifying. Ikael wonders what he is thinking.

“You want me to fuck you in the afterglow,” Thancred says. Ikael can’t help but shiver at the timbre of his voice. “When you’re all spent, easy and warm and pliant. When your muscles are gel and you can do nothing but take it.”

Ikael licks his lips. Unable to say anything, he merely nods. Why does Thancred sound so much sexier than him when they're speaking of the same thing?

“So myself… using you, I’m assuming is what appeals to you? You seem to like being treated like that.”

Ikael clears his throat, then nods again, feeling himself flush. Yes, he _does_ like it. Very much.

“Alright.” Thancred sounds pleased. “In that case, I think we should establish some things first.”

Ikael blinks up at him, concerned. Oh no—is something wrong?

Thancred catches his expression and smiles loosely, and it makes Ikael relax a little. “Just rules, so neither of us is overstepping the other’s boundaries,” Thancred clarifies. “There are some things that I… do not wish to do, and if we are entering this type of play, I feel as if I should make those things clear. And likewise for yourself, of course. Can we do that now?”

Ikael dips his head in a nod.

“Excellent.” Thancred reshuffles his papers, then sets them neatly aside, grabbing the last quiche. He eats it in two bites—what a dear—and resettles himself in his seat, making himself comfortable.

“Alright.” He makes sure Ikael is looking at him before he begins. “Firstly, I am very willing to go as far as you’d like in this direction, as long as it does not cross a line into an area where consent is an issue, imagined or otherwise. No assault play. For either of us, generally speaking. Pretending to be asleep, or doing anything while the other asleep is alright if we have discussed it beforehand, when fully awake.”

Ikael stares at him, eyes wide. No…? “Yeah,” he croaks, his tongue unsticking itself from the roof of his mouth. “Yeah, I-I don’t want to do that.”

Thancred grants him a small smile. “Some people like the thrill of the struggle, if they know they are in reality safe,” he explains. “I… do not. And I would rather not feel like I am forcing anything untoward on anyone, pretense or no.”

“Understandable,” Ikael says softly. “Okay, what else?”

Thancred's smile turns somewhat doleful at the edges. “I do not want to hurt you.” His voice dips. “Physically or otherwise. I will be forceful or rough if you wish me to be, and I can use my hand, but nothing that leaves a mark. I don’t want to—”

He breaks off to swallow, and his eyes flick away before returning to Ikael’s. “I do not wish to cause you more pain than pleasure. I don’t want to make you cry. Nothing with a closed fist, and absolutely no strikes on the face. Not to you. This isn’t—”

His eyelids stutter. He continues, nearly smooth save the barest tremor to his voice, “This isn’t negotiable. Ever.”

Ikael looks at him. For a long moment he considers asking; the “not to you” hasn’t escaped his notice. But he decides against it. If Thancred trusts him enough to let himself be readable, he trusts him to not push. “Okay,” he just repeats quietly.

Thancred's face relaxes, the tightness of tension Ikael hadn’t even noticed build up easing into gratefulness. “On that note, no demeaning,” he adds. “I will not call you derogatory names. I can treat you as an object physically, but not emotionally or verbally.”

Ikael nods, gaze drifting down. Being called a whore in the middle of sex would… not have a pleasant effect on his mental state. Gods, it is a good thing Thancred is establishing this. Ikael wonders if half these boundaries are for himself, and Thancred is simply ensuring he _has_ them in the first place.

(Because gods know he never has before.)

Thancred flexes his fingers a few times as he thinks further. “I believe that is all for me,” he finishes carefully. He tips his chin at Ikael. “And yourself?”

“No pee,” Ikael says immediately.

A smile threatens to break across Thancred's mouth. “Noted,” he says. “No fecal matter either, I assume?”

Ikael makes a face, nodding. Then shakes his head to agree. Stops. Stares, perplexed, at nothing, wondering how to get himself out of this endless loop of hell.

“I understand what you mean.” Thancred waves a hand, rescuing him from his suffering. “Alright, anything else?”

Ikael purses his lips. Some of what Thancred has already said, but they will not be doing that anyways. “I-I would like,” he decides finally, “there to be niceness. After. I-if I am sore, I want to cuddle. If I was feeling… vul—vulnerable, during, when we—a-are done I want to feel… safe.”

He looks down, picking at his hands. Is he asking too much? He has never done this before.

He feels gentle fingers tipping his chin up, and sees that Thancred's eyes are kind. “Of course, Ikael,” he agrees softly. “That is par for the course.”

Ikael shoots him a grateful smile, taking his hand and squeezing it. “That’s it, I think,” he mumbles.

Thancred's gaze is sharp and bright. “Do you want anything right now?” he asks.

Ikael nods. “Hug,” he says. “You?”

Thancred pulls him into his lap and wraps his arms around him, holding him securely. “I was going to say the same thing,” he replies.

After a beat, he adds, “Oh! I wanted you to pick a safe word. Do you know what—”

Ikael does, actually. “Rolanberry,” he interrupts. Thancred chuckles. Luckily, Ikael cannot see him roll his eyes.

“Of _course_ that’s what it is.”

~*~

“Ikael!” Thancred's grin is sly and full of promise. Ikael blushes, because it is _Ikael’s Sex Idea _Day, and Thancred has just returned from his trip out, which means they may start any moment now. He had even put on—well, alright, a normal outfit, but he is wearing pretty smalls. (They are pink! And lace. Thancred says that pink does not suit him, but Ikael does not think he knows as much as he does about colour theory). He bites his lip and curls his tail, trying to look coy.

“You have something in your teeth,” Thancred comments as he turns away to set a paper bag on the table. He glances back. “No, between the two on the right… here, let me get it.”

Ikael bares his teeth, sticking his face out for Thancred to inspect. “Eee.”

Thancred's lips press together in a smile. He strides forwards, puts his hands on Ikael’s waist, and kisses him.

_Oh_, Ikael thinks as Thancred sweeps his tongue into his mouth. That is a good one—Ikael will use it one day. Then he thinks, _Ohh_ for a different reason as the kiss becomes more assertive. Thancred pulls him close, until they are chest to chest.

He pulls back after a moment, catching Ikael’s bottom lip between his teeth. “How was that, in terms of how strong you want me to come on?” he asks, tilting his head.

Oh. Thancred is a darling, but… “A lot stronger,” Ikael says. Thancred breathes out a laugh.

“Of course.” He grins, then gives Ikael a light pat on the arse before going over to the bag he has brought. Ikael rolls his tongue over his front teeth, just in case there really _is_ something stuck in them.

“Now, I hope you do not mind that I have acquired some… help, shall we say.” Thancred leans against the table and crosses his arms, smile turning sly once more.

“Oh, I… do not really want to have other people with us.” Ikael winces apologetically. “It gets very messy, I think.”

“Er, no other people.” Thancred reaches into the bag. A mischievous twinkle enters his eye. “But I bought something I think you will like.”

What is he… “Oh,” Ikael says, eyes widening as Thancred pulls out something oblong and grey. “You _didn’t_!”

Thancred winks. “But I did.”

Ikael rushes over, shrieking excitedly. Thancred says “Uh,” and shoves the bag out of the way—odd—but Ikael is focused on the toy. He takes it from Thancred and looks it over, ears wiggling.

“Oh, this is so much nicer than my old one!” He exclaims. It _is_ a vibrator! He immediately switches it on, cranks the dial to the highest speed, and watches it, waiting. There is the hum-whirr of aether stirring, and then the thing begins to…

Well, _vibrate_.

_Vigorously_.

“Thancred, where did you _find_ this?!” Ikael turns large, delighted eyes to him, then laughs and darts forwards, kissing him on the cheek. “Never mind, that doesn’t matter! Oh, thank you so _much!_ I lo—than—thank you. I-I. Love… it. I.”

He glances down, suddenly shy. The vibrator buzzes violently in his hand, making his hair slowly rise from the energy emanating from it. “I love you,” Ikael mutters before he can completely lose his nerve.

_Whhhh_, goes the vibrator. It is glowing, very faintly.

He looks back up, and Thancred's gaze is soft. “I love you too,” he returns, smoother than Ikael but still a little stunted. Then his hand goes to the back of his neck, and he clears his throat. “Anyways! Um..”

Ikael turns the toy off and tugs the bag towards himself so he can check inside it. Thancred blurts, “Wai—” but it is too late, and Ikael pulls the large, deep red, _large_ phallus out with a slow, awed breath.

The base is shaped… oddly. Ikael glances in the bag, and surely enough, finds a small black harness with a circle at the front. His eyebrows shoot up.

“Thancred, you want me to fuck you with _this?!_” He turns it over, marveling at the design. It is hard, unlike the one he has back on the Source (and also not bright purple), made of some sort of precious metal or glass. He runs an appreciative finger over its unnatural, bubbling shape. Thancred has good taste.

Thancred himself looks almost… flustered, which is incredibly odd. It makes Ikael want to… lean into whatever he is embarrassed about, strangely, chase the edge he has and gently tease him into—

Well. They can do _that_ later.

Thancred hunches his shoulders, then relaxes them, blowing air out from puffed cheeks. “Well, I wasn’t intending to bring it up on _your_ day,” he says. “And it can also be used offhand, actually. But essentially… yes. Listen, we can—” He flushes, just barely, and Ikael’s eyebrows arch. “We can speak of what I intend of its use afterwards. Right now, I want to focus on you. Are you ready to begin?”

Ikael sets the phallus aside, ears flicking back. “Yeah,” replies. As if on cue, his heartbeat speeds up. Anticipation begins to tingle low in his gut.

“Good.” The angle of Thancred's shoulders seems to… shift, and when he steps towards Ikael, he almost seems to have grown an ilm. Ikael’s heart beats faster. The word hadn’t directly been one of praise, but the way it had been spoken makes his mouth go dry. He licks his lips, swallowing.

Thancred's gaze falls to the movement, casually, and he watches as Ikael sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and then lets it go, face hot and numb from the attention. Thancred takes one more step, and now they are nearly flush together.

“Two questions,” he murmurs. “Firstly: safe word?”

“Rolan—rolanberry.” Ikael licks his lips once more. If this keeps up, they are going to get chapped. “Or I-I make this gesture if I cannot talk.”

“Excellent,” Thancred praises, voice low. Ikael’s stomach does a funny little flip.

“Secondly. Regarding the first step: getting you to the state you want to be in. Do you want me to make it fast?”

His eyes are bright, watching Ikael without judgement. Still, Ikael blushes through his nod, at the simple, blasé acknowledgement that they both know Thancred _can_ make it fast. It would be embarrassing, were he not been the only person Ikael has ever slept with who has been able to.

Thancred smiles.

Before Ikael has enough time to piece himself together, he is being backed up, Thancred's broader and taller form fencing him in. His back hits a wall. Thancred holds his left forearm across his chest, pinning him and steadying him in equal measure.

A thigh slips between Ikael’s legs, and then they are being casually spread by a warm hand. It travels up his bare skin, unhurried, fingers splayed.

“You know, it helps a lot that your clothing is so minimal,” Thancred remarks. His hand slips into the left leg of Ikael’s shorts, pressing into the tendon of his inner thigh to have room to maneuver. The muscle flexes instinctively, and Ikael’s tongue clicks. “Although, ooh, this is a bit of a tight fit.”

“I-it’s… hot outside,” Ikael manages. “And, um…”

Thancred is wiggling his hand, trying to snake it further up Ikael’s shorts. “And…?” he prompts, the hint of a smile dancing across his lips.

“It’s, um—a-ah…” Thancred's hand has reached the apex of his legs. He turns it inwards, hooking his fingers over the juncture of the shorts. His knuckles are pressing right up against Ikael’s—thin, lace—smalls; a bumpy, unavoidable pressure.

“Please,” Thancred says, slowly rotating his wrist back and forth. Ikael fights back a whimper. “Continue.”

“Ah…” Ikael doesn’t remember what he was saying. “Wh… what?”

“You were about to tell me why your shorts are so,” Thancred's knuckles press up insistently, unabashedly grinding against Ikael’s sex through his smalls, “Tight.”

Ikael makes an involuntary, thoroughly embarrassing open-mouthed noise. Thancred clicks his tongue, although he is—yes, smiling, good. The forearm holding Ikael up suddenly releases, and it is all he can do not to stumble as he has to bear his own weight again.

“Easy, there. I’ve got you.” Thancred's other hand—oh gods, he has two of them—fiddles with something above the base of Ikael’s tail for a confusing moment, and then splays against his stomach, steadying him. Then it is moving _up_, dragging warm and firm against his skin.

Ikael’s shirt goes with it as Thancred rucks it up over his pectorals. He moves his face very close to Ikael’s, and Ikael is staring at him, chest exposed, breath coming in short pants, heartbeat in his throat, and already embarrassingly wet. Thancred slowly, deliberately, wets his lips. His eyes are dark.

“I should just take you against this wall,” he says. He starts turning the hand in Ikael’s shorts once more, faster than before, rolling his knuckles against him. “Look at you. I would just have to pull these down and push whatever you have _barely_ covering yourself aside, and you would be putty in my hands.”

He presses up firmly once more, and Ikael whimpers. Thancred's voice dips. “You already are.”

He yanks the shorts down and simultaneously seals his mouth around a nipple. Ikael makes a startled noise, which turns into a moan as Thancred's hand presses against him through his smalls, no longer constricted by the tightness of his clothing. His left hand creeps up to toy with the nipple his mouth isn’t covering, flicking it rapidly and without cease. The sudden assault of unexpected sensations leaves Ikael’s mind dizzy, arousal dulling his thoughts quicker than he knew it could. Thancred sucks, hard, and he lets out a broken moan.

The torturous hand between Ikael’s legs disappears, and he barely has time to mourn its loss before something cool and unnaturally hard replaces it, pressing directly against his sex. Then his shorts are being partially pulled back up, which does not make any sense.

“Wha’…?” Ikael’s head lolls to the side. He is fairly certain that clothing is only supposed to be _removed_, not put back on.

Thancred gives his nipple one last suck, lightly grazing with his teeth—_oh_—before pulling back. “You know,” he comments, “it occurred to me that I may use this lovely situation as a metaphor to teach you something.”

Ikael stares at him, mouth slightly open. Then he arches his chest, wanting more touch. “Please…” he mumbles.

Thancred's eyes soften a little. “I’ve got you, don’t worry,” he murmurs in an undertone. His expression shifts back to something a little more steely, and he says, “Now answer me this if you can, Ikael. When we are out on the field, who do you follow?”

Oh.

Ikael’s gaze strains under and away from Thancred's, all of a sudden shy. “Uh… you,” he mumbles.

_Click-whirr_.

The abrupt start of vibrations against Ikael’s sex is completely unexpected, and he jerks. Then he realizes, _Oh_, and when had Thancred even taken the vibrator? Ikael hadn’t noticed at _all_. How embarrassing.

“Me,” Thancred confirms. _Click_, and the vibrations stop. “Good,” he praises. “That is who you are _supposed_ to follow. But do you stay behind me, Ikael? Or do you go gallivanting off to gods know where?”

Ikael swallows, throat bobbing. He doesn’t answer.

Thancred's eyes narrow. “Well?” he says, and the vibrator clicks on again. This time, it is much stronger. Ikael’s eyes go wide. He waits for Thancred to turn it off, but he does not. “I—I—”

_Oh, shite_. Ikael bucks his hips, trying to lift off from the vibrator and give himself some room to breathe. He almost manages it, and the sensations distance themselves to a manageable level… and then Thancred jerks his shorts up and holds him down, and then presses even closer than before.

“No,” Thancred says simply.

“You never _listen_ to me in the field,” he continues as Ikael starts to squirm, at first just to test his freedom of movement and then desperately. The vibrator is completely, unforgivably restrained, and does not give even by an ilm. “Really, it’s a miracle you’re not dead a dozen times over.”

The powerful vibrations are already threatening to send Ikael over the edge. He bucks again, crying out. Thancred keeps it steadily pressed to him.

“Always running off by yourself, showing up ten minutes later like you can just go frolicking off wherever and whenever you want.” Thancred's gaze sharpens. “It is all I can do to get you to stay _still_.”

The vibrations ramp up in intensity, impossibly strong. Ikael cries out once more, unable to help himself. He lurches, muscles contracting, and the vibrator follows his movements, not letting him move away. Its unyielding consistency is just shy of painful, but to Ikael at this stage it is all just _good_, and _gods, fuck me._

“See what you get if you stay where I want you?” Thancred murmurs. “If you’re _good_ and let me take charge?”

Oh, fuck. “_Plea_—gods, fuck—” Ikael’s head falls back, his eyes rolling up. “Please, _please_.”

Thancred's hand shifts, changing the angle of the vibrator ever-so-slightly, and he says, “Be a good boy and come for me.”

The words _good boy_ flip a switch somewhere in Ikael’s brain. He gasps and comes harder than he has in moons, jerking and straining in Thancred's grip. He collapses against the wall with a keening noise, trembling from the spasms. Thancred catches him gently, shushing him.

Ikael doesn’t notice Thancred rapidly cycling through the speed settings on the vibrator as he comes down, keeping a careful eye on his face to gauge his reaction, nor does he notice him gently ease his shorts—which have left red marks on his thighs from being pulled so taught—off his legs. He is aware of being carried to the bedroom, can feel himself being carefully deposited on the bed.

He waits until he catches his breath, then stares at Thancred.

“You ruined my knickers,” he says.

Thancred's eyebrows quirk up. He ducks his head to check, and says, “I did not.”

“You did,” Ikael insists pathetically. “They’re lace, Thancred! That stains... I think.”

Thancred rolls his eyes. “They are lace only for the design, not at the bottom. Look.” And then he is taking Ikael’s smalls off in a really very unsexy way. He holds them up, showing where Ikael has made an—embarrassingly large—wet spot. “No colouration. Also, this is a shockingly neutral shade of pink. I am impressed.”

Ikael gapes at him, squinting. “… Eh?” he says warily. He is ready to defend his fashion choices, if need be.

Thancred gives him a little smile that lifts his eyes. “You usually choose that gods-awful neon colour that makes you look like an orange. This looks… cute. Not that you need any help in that department.”

_Cute. Thancred just called him cute_. “You’re an orange!” Ikael retorts, because he is an idiot.

Thankfully, Thancred does not seem to expect any sort of intelligent reply from him. He chuckles and sits down on the bed, beginning to pull off his boots.

“That was quite intense. How do you feel?” he asks conversationally.

Ikael considers. “A bit wobbly,” he says, because Thancred is right, that _was_ intense. “Ahaha. I liked the…” He blushes. “I-I liked how you were.”

“Oh?” Thancred raises an eyebrow. He slips off his coat, tossing it at a hook on the wall. It lands perfectly. “I am glad my instinct that you would bend to that slightly… dominant edge was correct. Takes one to know one, I suppose.”

Ikael scratches his ear. “I-I… yeah. Um. Did—did _you_ like it? Doing it, I-I mean. Was it, uh…?” His eyes dart meaningfully to Thancred's trousers, which look tight, if he is convincing himself.

Thancred's smile grows into a smirk. “Yes,” he says as he crawls over.

“Ahehe.” Ikael giggles airily. Thancred moves on top of him, and too late, his full words register. “Wait, wh—”

Thancred cuts him off with a kiss. Ikael moans into it, fully aware that his lower half is naked and Thancred is very much not. Then Thancred breaks off to tug his top, which has fallen back down, fully over his head, and Ikael is entirely exposed.

“Skin,” Ikael mumbles as Thancred traces his tongue down his throat. “A-ah… I want to touch you.”

“Undress me,” Thancred murmurs back. Ikael complies eagerly and energetically, and he laughs.

Thancred is soon bare-chested, and Ikael is getting to lacings of his trousers when a hand wanders between his legs. He spreads them, although sitting up like this, the angle is not ideal.

“That’s good enough, love. On your back now, alright? I promise you can still touch me.” Thancred stills his hands with a light touch.

Ikael pouts, but complies, lying back down. He grabs a few pillows for his head, and then another one, which he tosses at Thancred. He (sadly) catches it right before it hits him in the face.

“Good boy,” he praises before Ikael can reach for another. Heat floods Ikael’s cheeks, and he sinks down onto the mattress, train of thought forgotten.

“You can pull on my hair,” Thancred tells him as he lifts his hips to place the pillow beneath them. That is all the warning Ikael gets before Thancred ducks down and seals his mouth over his sex.

Ikael moans. Thancred's tongue is clever and almost insufferably skilled, and it is not long before he reaches down to grab two loose fistfuls of white hair to anchor himself. Thancred hums appreciatively, spreading Ikael’s legs to give himself easier access. He holds his hips down, pretty eyes falling half-lidded.

“Gh,” says Ikael, arching. Thancred pushes him down with a low noise, sucking hard on his… what was the word again? Ikael doesn’t—

He breaks his own train of thought with a moan. It doesn’t matter, he decides.

The response seems to spur Thancred on. His motions are merciless—at this point, he is not even the slightest bit interested in teasing. His gaze flicks up, locking onto Ikael’s, and the intensity in those brown eyes alone is nearly enough to do Ikael in. Then Thancred growls—oh, _fuck_—and spreads his legs to an almost impossibly exposing angle, giving him absolutely no quarter. Ikael curses and tries not to buck. Fails, but for Thancred holding him down, now forcibly. Tries not to _come_. Fails, when Thancred makes a low, borderline animalistic noise in his throat and all but attacks him with his tongue and lips and mouth and—

“Oh, fuck me,” Ikael breathes as he orgasms. Thancred keeps going, the madman, not slowing down at all, and Ikael whines at the oversensitivity, then moans, because it is too _much_, almost painful, and too _soon_, because he is still sensitive and tingly and _close—_

He comes again with a whine, arching his back. This time, Thancred slows down with him, but wastes no time by coaxing him through. Instead he reaches for the drawer in the nightstand, grabbing the small bottle of lubricant they keep there.

“Please take your clothes off,” Ikael says hoarsely. He does feel like jelly now, as if Thancred has sapped his energy with his skilled tongue and strong hands. Thancred grins, all teeth, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his trousers.

He pulls them—with his smalls—down achingly slowly. Ikael drinks in the angled dip of his hipbones, the swell of his abdomen flexing lightly as he drags his clothes down over his cock. After far too long of this striptease he is naked, and Ikael leans forward, eager to use his own mouth and show Thancred how good he can be—

Thancred pushes him back with a hand on his chest. “Not today,” he says, quiet but firm. “Today _I_ choose how you give me pleasure. Lie back down.”

Ikael swallows around a dry throat, eyes wide. He sinks back down.

A smile flickers across Thancred's mouth. “Good,” he says. He reaches for the vibrator, which is lying near the edge of the bed, and Ikael heart skips a beat.

“I-I thought you were going to fuck me?” he asks.

“I am,” Thancred assures him. “But I’m not done with you yet. Spread your legs, knees up.”

Ikael obeys slowly, uncertain as to what Thancred is planning. He is opening the bottle of lubricant, which means… what, if not the obvious? Ikael is confused.

Surely enough, Thancred circles a wet finger around Ikael’s entrance, and slowly pushes in. But then he takes the vibrator in his other hand and switches it on, holding it to Ikael’s sex.

_Oh_, thinks Ikael as Thancred positions it so it buzzes directly against his sensitive spot.

“I am going to keep this here,” Thancred tells him, “And when I feel like you can take it, I’m going to change it to a faster speed. And I won’t remove it, no matter how many times you come. Alright?”

Ikael swallows dryly, heat coiling low in his stomach. “A-alright.”

Thancred smiles. His finger pushes further into Ikael, gradually stretching him, and Ikael slumps into the mattress and lets the tension drain from his body. It… is almost difficult to do, because that makes the vibrator seem stronger, somehow, as if it will affect him easier, and—

_Prostate_, his brain reminds him as Thancred rubs against it. Ikael would thank it, but his thoughts have been effectively scattered.

“There we go,” Thancred murmurs. Ikael does not hear him change the setting on the vibrator, but he does _feel_ it, and he cries out, struggling to stay still.

“Feel free to try and move,” Thancred says smugly. “It’s not going anywhere.”

Ikael’s reply is incoherent. It is so _strong_, and Thancred is relentless with both it and his fingers. True to his word, the vibrator chases Ikael when he turns his hips, although he finds it easier to stay still when he is being opened up, an old, familiar instinct to not hurt himself surfacing. Too soon, Ikael is near the edge once more. A particularly toe-curling thrust of Thancred's fingers sends him over it, and he whines as he shakes and shivers. It is far less strong of an orgasm than his very first one had been, but its effect is cumulative, and Ikael feels his already weak limbs go limp when it recedes. Then, unexpectedly, it is followed by another one. Ikael gasps dryly, neck arching.

Thancred does not acknowledge this but for a sudden shift in the angle of his fingers. Those clever, maddening, _infuriating_ fingers, thrusting into Ikael, twisting, spreading. Without cease. Without slowing down. They have gone long past any need to open him up, Ikael knows rationally. Thancred is simply driving into his prostate again and again, with the sole purpose of making him go mad.

It is not fair. It is more difficult to stimulate that angle for Ikael, he is aware, than it is for other men who have it. But Thancred is doing it expertly, without any guidance whatsoever. It is not _fair_, Ikael thinks as he whimpers and comes again, the dual stimulation from inside and outside wrenching the pleasure from him.

“I hate you… y’so good,” he mumbles nonsensically.

Thancred shuts the vibrator off and lays it on the nightstand. His fingers withdraw and Ikael whines, trying and failing to chase them.

“Plea—”

Thancred kisses him, hard and deep. Ikael moans and gives in completely, too spent at this point to do anything but let him take full control. Thancred makes a low, hungry noise in his throat. His hand clenches in Ikael’s hair, tight but not pulling.

He breaks the kiss with dark eyes. The thinnest strand of saliva stretches between their lips, then breaks. Thancred swallows, and for a moment it seems as if he is going to kiss Ikael again. But then he sits back on his haunches, his jaw working.

He turns Ikael onto his stomach and spreads his legs, firmly and without letting his touch linger. There is nothing delicate about how he handles him now, all the slowness and gentleness from earlier gone. Two fingers dive into Ikael once his arse is in the air to check his readiness. It garners a shocked noise, but not one of pain. Satisfied, Thancred spreads his cheeks, and without further ado, pushes in.

“_Fuck_,” he hisses. “You're so—gods.”

He gives an experimental thrust. Ikael makes a quiet sound, but does not otherwise react. There is barely even the usual stretching sensation, although he does feel… full. But his body is pliant and warm, loose from his orgasms. It is not difficult to simply let Thancred… take.

“You’re good to go as fast as you like,” he mumbles into the pillow beneath his head. His eyes flutter half shut.

“Oh, lovely,” Thancred says faintly. His voice is strained.

He starts to move, at first slowly then quickly gaining pace as his hunger for pleasurable touch after so long without overcomes him. He loops Ikael’s tail around his wrist to move it out of the way, pressing a palm against his spine to brace himself.

He remembers to angle his thrusts to hit Ikael’s—prostate, the darling. Ikael moans sloppily, having not lost his ability to feel _good_. Thancred curses, speeding up.

His pace is ruthless, almost off-rhythm. Ikael does not mind—indeed, having Thancred take him so… animalistically only makes heat pool between his legs once more. He whimpers. A droplet of drool wets his lips.

“Fuck, you’re actually _wet_,” Thancred hisses. “Twelve above—”

He grabs Ikael’s sides and all but ploughs into him, speed becoming punishing. Ikael moans wordlessly, because it feels so _good_, and he is going to be limping for days but it will be worth it. He tries to tell Thancred this—to spur him on, because Ikael likes to be an encouraging and supportive friend—but finds that his jaw doesn’t quite know how to work, and Thancred is pounding into him, and what was Ikael going to say, again?

“A-ahh…” he says. Yes, that was probably it.

Thancred's fingers dig into his sides. Ikael pieces enough of his brain together to breathe, “Inside,” and Thancred swears, thrusts impossibly speeding up.

He climaxes with a forceful stutter of his hips and a bitten-off curse. Ikael’s eyes drift shut as he smiles, revelling in the feeling of Thancred losing himself inside of him.

Eventually, Thancred pulls out. Ikael all but collapses, exhaustion reducing him to naught but a spent pile of bones and goo. He hears noises, but he does not know what they are. He is about to succumb to the alluring pull of sleep when—

“Oh! Gotta pee.” He jumps off the bed, scurrying to the bathroom.

He had learned _that_ the hard way.

“I thought you said no pee,” he hears Thancred mumble indistinctly. Then a pause, and, “… What?”

When Ikael returns to the bedroom, clad in his favourite pair of brais (soft, comfortable, bright yellow—what more could a miqo’te want?) he finds Thancred sitting on the bed, squinting at a familiar green book.

“_This_ is your inspiration?!” he says without looking up. “Holy shite, it’s terrible.”

Ikael’s mouth opens in indignation. He crosses his arms, feeling his tail puff up like black, inedible spun sugar.

“How—how dare you!” he squeaks. “It is a—a literary masterpiece! The… the…”

The what? _The steaminess! The passion!_ his brain supplies. Ikael says, “The…”

“_‘The large, voluptuous galdjent with bulging muscles unleashes his throbbing cock on the writhing feline catboy beneath him_,’” Thancred reads. “Really? I thought that was a slur. ‘_The smaller man purrs, clenching his tight virgin hole. “I want to feel yourrr huge cock rrrearrranging my insides!” he screams. “Take me meow! Fuck me until I’m purr-fectly rawr—”’”_

“Okay, okay! Maybe it is a bit, um, fetishizing,” Ikael interrupts. “You don’t have to do _voices_.”

Or at least not make them sound like _that_. Ikael would never make puns during sex. He is not clever enough.

“He’s not even a virgin,” Thancred continues, apparently determined to start a new career as a literary critic. “It can’t keep saying ‘virgin hole’ if this is the fiftieth time they’ve fucked. Within the past day. Is that even physically possible?”

Ikael huffs. “What would _you_ know about virgin holes?” he mutters, kneeling down to pick up his knickers from where they had been unceremoniously tossed earlier. From his periphery, he sees Thancred grin. He mentally kicks himself, cheeks heating.

“Shut up,” he says loudly, before Thancred can reply.

“I don’t think I will, actually. You know what? Let me start from the beginning, _voices_ and all. I’m sure this book could really teach me some things, virgin that I am. Ahem. ‘_It was a dark and sexy night…’_”

And he launches into the book’s (riveting, thrilling, sensual) prologue. Ikael groans, dropping his head.

He has a long day ahead of him.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> press f for the hints thancred was dropping that ikael completely failed to pick up on  
poor guy'll get what's coming to him soon ;)


End file.
